


Redemption

by misfiredeacy



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BoRhap, Domestic, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Multi, Other, Queen - Freeform, Reader Insert, Smut, gender neutral reader, john deacon fic, john deacon fluff, john deacon imagine, john deacon smut, john deacon x reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-23
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-09-25 16:41:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17124968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misfiredeacy/pseuds/misfiredeacy
Summary: John was your high school love; though your care for one another was mutual, you both had frequent swings in your individual desires and lacked the ability to support one another as a product of such. You drifted apart and hadn't heard from him since. You've since moved in a flat with friends that start to notice how your drive and excitement fades from you and suggest a night at the club. Little did you know you just might run into an old flame, and find yourself an opportunity at redemption.





	1. Redemption (Fluff/All ages) — Part 1/? GenderNeutral!Reader

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John was your high school love; though your care for one another was mutual, you both had frequent swings in your individual desires and lacked the ability to support one another as a product of such. You drifted apart and hadn't heard from him since. You've since moved in a flat with friends that start to notice how your drive and excitement fades from you and suggest a night at the club. Little did you know you just might run into an old flame, and find yourself an opportunity at redemption.

Lovers in high school, you and John had always been on and off. He was very particular about things, and you could be too, but your particularities lacked the ability to align.

People always adored your relationship but they never knew the true struggle of your dynamic. Though your romance was sincere and mutual it was frequently hindered by variables so inevitable.

High school sweethearts? No. Something more like high school “termites.” That’s what your friend, F/N, told you.

He’d say your and John’s relationship was something of a house that the both of you constantly tore down before it was even half built. That you had both thrived off of being distractions from the other's needs and responsibilities. Neither of you was prepared to produce the security your relationship was meant to supply; there was no way to manifest something that you’d never had the experience of.

As unskilled as the two of you were, he'd never fail an attempt at making you blush when he'd sing you his favorite The Beatles songs. Your flushed cheeks were a reward to him. He'd kiss them as he'd replace certain lyrics, making them more personal to you and him. "Hey, Y/N... don't make it bad... take a sad song... and make it better..." He was so shy to sing to anyone else. You were one of the only people who denied him of this insecurity.

It sucked how your partners before him were all tremendous assholes, and you knew that he wasn’t like them. But there was just something that never clicked between the two of you.

That was neither of your faults, though, and it wasn’t always unpleasant with John. You both wholeheartedly enjoyed the other’s company. Always proud of the other, extremely supportive; you were true companions, you were each other's confidant. You were each other’s first real loves.

What was so detrimental was how heavy you relied on one another, and how it felt like you couldn’t provide the full of what the other required. Your hearts were in it so much that you never conceptualized how greatly your individual desires were.

John was very ambitious; he was in a band since you two met at age 14. If he wasn’t the cutest boy you'd ever seen. Probably the most intelligent man you’ve met, too, and he prided himself in your proclamation of such. He thought the same of you, but at times grew jealous of your expertise he lacked. One-up-ing each other was a prominent issue.

Back then, it was rare that you saw eye to eye with him about the “important things,” because your lives were like a ceiling and beams with no foundation—your friend's words once again. There’s no point of building a house with no foundation, he would tell you, and you knew.

You liked winging your every day; being in the moment was therapeutic for you, offering a sensed of control over your life, but it stressed him out. John found no sense of stability in being so spontaneous. You would tell him structure is found in self-soothing, giving yourself what you need and want. He felt misunderstood, as did you.

He always thought “everything happens for a reason,” and despite your contrasting belief of "things don’t happen the way they should; they happen the way they do," you were sure as hell not disappointed when you and John reunited tonight at a gig with his new band.

It was a complete accident on your part and his own.

Your roommates found that you were becoming too free-willed, free-falling in a pit of purposelessness more than ever. You were impulsive, and you found yourself in a cycle of failed attempts to fill your gaps.

"How is going to the club going to help me feel better?" You ask your friends.

"We hate watching you bloom into a venomous flower; masking your pain with color, but you're like a toxin to everyone around you and your own self!" F/N tells you.

"What’s with all of the damn metaphors?"

"I'm just trying to offer you some insight, Y/N!" He thinks they make things clearer, and to be honest, they did, but you hated it. You’d rather not know.

You shake the frustration off and in the process of preparing for the night ahead, you find yourself feeling more and more confident. The way you appeared was so ascendant; you hated feeling lesser than, weak, even worthless. No, you were none of that. Especially not now. You felt pride and sufficiency―fulfillment.

The live band plays a nostalgic but very avant-garde tune; you and your friends, dance, as you sip the last of your Pink Squirrel, and exchange simple conversation. You notice F/N and his girlfriend appeared to be arguing. She whisper-yells, "What is your problem?!"

He looks ready to defend himself, but she's shouting now, and pointing beyond the crowd, over to the stage.

Your curiosity leads you to follow her finger and your heart drops to your stomach, and a lump forms in your throat. “Is that bloody John?! John Deacon?” You questioned, completely shocked. "I've got to sit down..."

Feeling near-to-betrayed, you were ready to tear F/N apart, watching himself and his girlfriend bickering back and forth. He heads over to you, hand scratching the back of his head, a full glass in his other hand.

"I should take that drink and pour it all over your head! Smash it against your stupid, stupid... ugh..." Your brain feels fried with rage, and the slight buzz of your cocktail.

He frowns, "I swear I meant no harm..."

"But you knew? You were always the one... the one telling me... that he and I..."

"Y/N, I know... You've both been on your own paths and I thought maybe him returning was a sign that maybe they were forging back together." F/N's girlfriend looks at you, reciprocating your disappointment in him.

"Oh, please! Just go dance or whatever... I'm fine." They knew better than to deny you your solitude when you needed it, so they nodded and went back to the rest of your roommates to catch them up on the drama.

You remained infuriated but you hear a familiar voice behind the eccentric lead vocals; you turn to see him―Deacon―do his little shuffle as he echoes the lyrics.

Your mind flickered an image of him performing at your 16th birthday party, where he even sang despite him hating his voice. You smile at the thought but you’re caught completely off guard when his gaze shifts towards you. He’s shocked as well.

You know he’s spotted you and you’d feel like shit trying to escape it so you remain at your seat but refrain from ogling his way. Once the band wraps up, he's heading your way. You offer a nervous smile, which he returns as he sits by you.

"Hey, haven't seen you in ages! Wh-what are you doing here?" He asks, you see him tremble a bit. It gives you the slightest bit of reassurance that you're not the only nervous wreck.

"Just out with friends," You gesture to the group on the dance floor, who stares your way. They all wave and you put your forehead in your hands.

He gives a breathy laugh, "Still hanging with F/N, hm?" You hear a bit of hostility in his voice, and you can't blame him at this moment.

You nod; a silence blankets you for a mere 10 seconds but your thoughts can't be contained and flow out your mouth faster than you can process them, “So, who are these blokes? Where're all your other bandmates―The Opposition?”

"Well, it's a new band... needed a change, I guess. They had other plans anyway."

You look to the other... 'Queen' members, “They look old.”

“They are... a bit, not too old, though.” Typical apprehensive Deacon; it was endearing. “You look... older, too.”

“Hm?” You cheekily ask, feigning offense. Not assured in your words, but careless due to your tipsy state.

He interprets it as confidence, though and stutters with crinkled eyes and a smile, “W-well, just more m-more m-mature, y’know? Like, you've got this a totally new look and all. Just, very lovely. Love it. I mean!―Like it...like the look...” a smile flickers but fades to something much more bashful and his thoughts trail and his eyes follow suit, down your body and freeze at your legs.

Your thighs are clad with leather shorts, not the most comfortable thing but F/N did tell you tonight was going to call for it, and so you dressed accordingly. Screw him, though. The rest of your legs were adorned in fishnet stockings. You've got on platform heels, ones you and John would have actually mocked in the past. His stare is hot on them.

“You like 'em?” You ask, kicking your foot forward a bit, offering him a better look.

He whips his head up to meet your eyes, "Yes. Surprising choice... but it really... suits you."

"Thank you." You say, shifting a bit awkwardly, and he curiously watches as you look around, “Sorry, I... uh... think my friends have abandoned me." Your brain is flashing like a neon sign and you sputter, "Want to head out somewhere?”

John is flattered but was completely unexpecting, “Well, I haven’t got my car. The lads drove in with me in the van, which—actually, they may have taken off by now.” He scratches his head as his eyes searched the venue for his bandmates.

“No worries, Johnny.” His eyes grew subtly at the nickname, still, you noticed. “I’ll take you home, we can sit and get a drink if you’d like.”

"Oh! You've got a car now?" You were never one to drive.

You chuckle a bit at his bewilderment, "I'm just full of surprises tonight, then, huh?" He's at a bit of a loss for words so you just take initiative and say, "Let's just have a drink and catch up?" Though taken aback by your own words, you are bubbly when he accepts the offer. You both sit by the bar and he orders a beer, but you find it best to not drink since you'll be driving.

"So when did you join, uh... 'Queen'? They seem... not really your scene." You question him.

"March, two years ago, actually." Roughly one year after you'd stopped seeing each other. "I was questionable when I first came across them but they actually reached out to me and we've just fit nicely, since. Well, as nicely as any band can. We have disagreements like any other humans... just, well, human nature. I guess." You sense he's still nervous but you know how when he rambles, he's preparing to be more open. You hold back a giggle of adoration.

"Any plans for you all? An album perhaps." You wiggle your eyebrows and his expression is bashful.

"We've got one already. It's self-titled. Didn't do too horrid but we were maybe overly hopeful and it, uh, was a bit unfortunate."

"Wait so you're signed and everything?!" He nods, enjoying the enthusiasm in your voice. He's missed it, John hasn't had anyone to talk to about his life but these other men that were basically with him constantly.

"And so... what about your mates? Tell me about them."

"They're a whimsical bunch. Very different, but uh... well, yeah, different... Brian is the guitarist; Brian May―he studied astronomy or astrology; don't quite know the difference. Big on stars, and science. Biology and such―quite the animal lover, too. Great guitarist."

"The blonde's got quite a good look, what's his story, then?"

You see John's eyes roll. Though not your intended result, but it thrilled you a bit, "Well he... he was studying to be a dentist. Good lad, undoubtedly... but somewhat of a skirt-chaser. Not your type."

"And what are you suggesting? Can I not admire his aesthetic without being accused of any nasty intentions?"

"No, no! Sorry, Y/N―"

"Deacon, relax... I'm just gagging you! So the other lad, Mr. Leotard..."

"Hm? Oh! Freddie... yeah he's quite the individual. He's actually legally had his name changed―Freddie Mercury." You respond with an 'ah,' "Picked the name of the band as well. Very... just... reflects, well, reflective for... um, of who he is, I suppose." John chuckles to himself, growing a bit incoherent.

"And yourself?"

He looks puzzled, and you're puzzled in return. Is he coming up short to talk to you about himself? Probably just from intoxication.

"I did study electronics in London, as I'd planned..." He looks disheartened.

"At Chelsea College, John?!" You say, overjoyed for him, but his face remains saddened, "Why so glum? Wasn't that what you'd wanted?"

"Didn't finish... don't know. Plans change, I guess." You knew he'd always been so fixated on radios and machinery, never your thing but a dream of his you'd never hesitate to encourage.

You hum in sympathy, "They do, and you're doing great things now, Deacon. Little Paul McCartney, aren't you?... Soon to be big John Deacon."

He chuckles with a burp, covering his mouth and eyes widening in an apologetic but amusing way. You notice he's halfway to finishing his third mug of beer since sitting there.

“Your hair’s grown a lot. Silly look, like the way it frames your face, though.” He blushes at your words, eyes locked with yours. John was typically nervous of eye contact; made him feel vulnerable at times, though he felt safe, and maintained it. You take the opportunity to stroke a layer of his mane; he presses his head into your palm and there's a gleam in his eyes.

You’ve missed him. Regardless of how little you’ve thought of him since your high school years, and all that has happened within your past, there was always a presence, reminiscent of him, that walked the halls of your heart. It was weird, though. So expectant, so acute the way it all occurred.

“You good, love?”

A shiver chased down your spine, and you nearly imploded... love. The way it rolled off his tongue. You missed it, and you could’ve kissed him right then but he was very apparently drunk. You should take him home.

“Yes, Mr. Deacon. I’m dandy. But you’re seeming a bit too merry yourself. Let’s get you home, huh?”

“Long as your taking me there.” He attempts to wink, at least that’s what you inferred from the irregular blink of his eyes. He chuckles followed by a gentle hiccup, then followed by another chuckle.

Now in your car, he gives you directions towards his new flat. You notice he’s yet to put on his seatbelt so you remind him.

“Since were you an officer?” He smirked at his own joke, but still complied.

His drunken state has always been silly; you enjoyed drinking when you were with him, the two of you rarely had, though. Many kids thought it was cool when you were younger, and one thing you and John agreed on was how foolish wasting money and time on drinking to enjoy yourself was.

Funny how times change though―you’ve got your ex-boyfriend, that you swore to never speak of never mind stay and reminisce and catch up with, in your passenger seat, inebriated and dozing off.

You found yourself distracted from the road at times. Staring at his sleepy angel face. Then distracted by that with your frustrations. Why’d he lived so damn far? And completely out of the way of your home. You wanted to take him back there, just for the sake of ease, but you didn't know how that would work, and you did know you roommates would pester you for it.

He attempts to ask about your life; you know he's genuinely interested but you're not in the mood to ramble to him in such a daze.

"Just working on my art; maybe get a part-time job soon... going with the flow as usual."

He hums, a bit unevenly but in a way that makes you feel bright. John's hand is placed on your thigh and pats approvingly. You shudder and smile to yourself. It stays there the rest of the way.

Arriving at his home, a long drive after, you walked him in. You hoped he'd get right to sleep and you could get away with tonight being just a simple catch up and that you could just get yourself back at your own residence and forge it all into a dream. He finds your eyes as your in deep thought, "Hope you're going to stay?"

John kicks off his shoes, and you watch intently as he takes off his pants.

There was a coquettish look in his eyes, but you watched him grow sluggish. He gets a bit comfortable, still eyeing you. It seemed as though you could deny his request easily without debate but you also found yourself not wanting to.

"Hey, Deacon?"

"Wha...?"

"I've got like near to no clothes to sleep in, so..."

With his eyes closed, his classic smile forms on his lips, "The top dresser, love. Should have sh-shirts... or whatever... sleep in what you like."

You search the drawer and find a The Beatles top. Not one you recognized. You chuckled to yourself at how juvenile it seemed and replaced your club attire, now scattered to the floor, with the shirt, it was cozy.

Easing over to him, just enough for your calves to meet his, you feel nervous but at peace. This is nice. An arm falls over your waist, fingertips tracing the curves and creases at a slow, and decelerating, pace as he's fully enraptured by his sleep. This is heaven... you'd felt damned for a while but maybe this was your chance at redemption.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments, kudos, or suggestions for content warnings, etc.!
> 
> If you have ideas/requests for future fics submit them {anonymously, if so desired} here: misfiredeacy.tumblr.com/ask


	2. Darling (Smut/18+) — Part 2/? Vulvic!Reader Version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life was draining but you woke up restored. Despite how you would expect such an abrupt meet up with John, there was a strange casualty to it where, even in doubt, you felt dependent on his company. You feared the potential of slipping up before a man so dear to you, one you experienced puberty alongside for God's sake, but in time adopted a safe feeling; talking to him, though would appear to any passerby as mere catch-up between old friends, was revitalizing. Closure has always been something you've lacked, and though not blatantly stated, it was obvious that he and you hadn't lost your spark, or, in the least, there was no hostility between the two of you and still potential for growth or continuation of some manner of association. That becomes proven more so the following morning where he makes you breakfast and you make him a little something yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers and warnings:
> 
> THIS IS SMUT! 18+ ONLY!
> 
> Also contains the following: Dom/Sub dynamic; Teasing; Praising; Y/N!Dom; Y/N!Bottom (penetrated); Riding; Oral and handjob on penis (Y/N on giving end)
> 
> Other content warnings: Food/Encouragement to eat (slight); Cussing (moderate); Exes/Unlikely relationship dynamic
> 
> \---
> 
> This smut is made for readers interested in self-inserts where Y/N possesses a vagina and breasts.
> 
> (Not all vagina/breasts-bearing people are AFAB nor female/woman-aligned)
> 
> Vulvic - of or relating to the vulva*
> 
> *Vulva = External genitals of the vaginal anatomy
> 
> \---
> 
> I hope I avoid gendered pronouns as much as possible and that I can be as inclusive of any and all readers because all bodies are different and it can be complicated to include every body type, background, and culture. My biggest goal is to achieve enough ambiguity to allow any reader to fin Y/N's character because all self-insert fics are AUs for the reader, but you should still feel appropriate inserting yourself into any fave x reader fics! <3

As your eyes slowly drift open, you feel a strike of unfamiliarity through your abdomen. Your fatigue evaporates swiftly. Looking over to the other side of the bed, you see it is not occupied though looks slept in with dents in the mattress, sheets tousled, and the comforter torn away from the edge. Your memory floods back to you—John! The events, or perhaps circumstance and many floods of dopamine production that partook within you, come flooding back. You wonder where he's gone. You think to yourself that you've oughta take a shower before returning home to your roommates.

You rush yourself in to do your business before he returns. Vaguely, your mind torments you with last night; what an enchanting torment. Soon, you're humming songs from Queen's performance last night. The name is very becoming now that you think about it, the band as well; you're interested to know them and wonder if John will formally introduce you. Mentally, you slap yourself for pondering such as though expecting something to come out of the opportune accident of last night.

After 20 transient minutes of cleansing, self-torment, and trying to remember the ending of the song John had hummed on the way home, you exit the shower. You felt nice coming out of the shower and inhaled your own scent; you hated body wash marketed for men, a horrid stench. You've never understood the idea that men cannot wash with sweet scents like strawberry. You summon into mind that it smells like John—a given—but that turned a putrid stench into a savored perfume.

Your clothes weren't fit for anywhere but the club, in your head, so you searched his dresser for any trousers that you thought he wouldn't miss. You peak out of the restroom and see he's not returned. You pondered the possibility of him being home but you've heard not one noise come out of the flat beside the own making of yourself. You exit the bathroom and return his shirt to your body, where it felt so comfortable then continue on with a pair of his pants.

The door creaks and you jump to turn towards the sound but fall as you got your final pant leg (John's pants) up. "Shit!" John shouts, always one to exaggerate but whose to say when you've fallen with pants around your ankles because the owner of the flat you're in, as they would, walks into their own room?

He scrambles over to you after placing a tray with 2 matching plates of breakfast food onto his nightstand. "You okay?" You're flushed and wish you could crawl out of your skin but let out a meek, "Y-yeah." Taking your hand, John attempts to help you up and you comply but remain rosy while you work on the pant leg.

He has a curious face on when he asks, "What are you doing, Y/N?"

"Putting my pants on. What do you mean?" As 'my,' falls from your lips, his eyebrow quirks and your flush is unwavering, and your head becomes light.

"Don't be embarrassed." Oh God, he can tell. "I'm...erm...why do you want my pants?"

You foolishly blurt, "Don't really want to head home in club get-up... These looked comfy."

"And I'm presuming as did my The Beatles top, no?" You're beyond dumbfounded; no embarrassment has surpassed this.

"Y/N, relax." He's smiling and reaches an arm out to you, and you rush his pants up to your hips. John is chuckling as you are turned to face away with him as he hugs you from behind. It goes silent for near to a minute but you it feels comfortably long and painstakingly long as you lack full satisfaction. "Missed this." His nose graces your neck, breathing steadily with a heavy exhale followed by a groan of joy. "Y'smell like me," He mutters.

You giggle. "What? You do!" He tells you. "No...no! I-it tickles!" You manage out through more giggles.

He spins you around simply to see your face, and share your joy but once your eyes lock they linger and John's face starts microscopically inching towards you. Before tension could even build, you break it down, forcing your mouth to his, unable to wait. You've waited so long already. Minutes feeling like days... so it's been nearly 4 lifespans.

His hands wander to under your shirt—well, his shirt—and grace your tummy. As he's backing towards the bed, you find yourself on John's lap. "Where were you all this time?" You groan between hungry kisses.

"Downstairs making breakfast..." He pulls away, looking at you and over to the table where the food sits.

"I meant these past years, you dork."

"Oh, uh...—Oh shit!" He cuts himself off, "Speaking of breakfast... want some? It might get cold." You think he's joking at first but you see the sincerity in his eyes.

"John, I appreciate the gesture and I hate to waste such lovely food but I'd much rather be doing something else right now, wouldn't you?" He shifts beneath you.

"Please, please..." He grinds up into you while mumbling pleas.

"Don't you ever shut up?" Now it's John's turn to get flustered. You caress his crimson cheeks and run your thumb along them, easing your hands into his hair. His eyes dart cross your face and to your hand—just all over, trying to guess your next move. With a kiss placed to his cheek, you let your fingers intertwine with his locks and give a bit of a tug. He sucks in a sharp breath and whimpers.

His bulge is prominent, seeming completely and painstakingly erect, like the hairs on your neck and you giggle, at first innocently but teasingly as you inch your hand up his thigh.

"You little minx!" John grabs your wrist, as he attempts to restore his self-discipline and assert dominance over you but you see vulnerability in him. His body weakened and desperate for you.

"Me, the minx? You're pitching up quite the tent, after near to no touching and you're whimpering for me like a kitten... like my little toy." He liked that. He nearly passed out with how much he liked that, and he let it echo in his head until he thought he may just combust.

And you liked the way he believed he could control and with just a couple sentences he conceded; you felt proud. Sexual liberation was important for you, and you received constant shame, even from friends, for it but John was doing the complete opposite and this fact nearly reverted you to a place where you've never felt agony. 

Your brain goes foggy; though every step of the way you are tuned into your elation, it becomes so much that you let his noises and your intuition guide your every move.

Somehow you've both got your pants off, your underwear remains, but his were tossed across the room. You're keeled before him as he's sat on the edge of the bed. Spit falls from your mouth and along his tip. You guide it down, lubing him up and teasing his pulsing dick with both of your hands. John tries to remain alert but can't help blinking through the overwhelming amount of pleasure. He's holding his bottom lip between his teeth to hold in his wailing.

Confidence soars through as you ask, "So, who is the toy here, then?"

"Me."

"You what? C'mon... be good for me."

"G-god. I-I'm your toy. Yours, d-d." He trails, but you can tell it's by choice. You don't even know what will fall from your lips but you're aching to hear.

"What's that? Yours, who?" You demand, with your hand stroking him still, but offer a more gentle, "Don't be shy, baby. Wanna try again?"

He has the flash of a smile but his expression fades to one that's dizzied with lust, while he fucks up into your hands and, "Darling!" Bursts out of his swollen lips.

"Good little thing, you are." You say with a pleased laugh, slowing the motions around his pulsating erection and taking your hand off. John whimpers, looking like he's in need.

"M-mouth, please." He begs, with his head was thrown back and eyes tightly shut.

You would've protested a bit just to tease him more but you wanted him bad. He jolts when you place his tip to your tongue; your wet lips join and you let out a small laugh, sending vibrations around him and he becomes even more desperate. You guide your fingers up his thighs, around his bush and to his belly. The way his abdomen muscles contorted at the gentlest touch made him all the more desirable but you contained your excitement in aims of remaining in control. You needed it, but you also needed him.

He fucks up into your face and you allow it, slowly pulling away to restore your breath, only to go back to pleasing him.

"Don't think that you're in charge now." You remind him and he's a pathetic, noisy mess for you by now. "Keep making noise, Johnny. I love it."

You gargle around his length and ensure you're utilizing your hands to stimulate him as much as you can. Your pussy quivers with every sound, no need to touch yourself to know you're soaking.

"D-didn't you want me to shut up?"

"You were prolonging this, and we both know that neither of us is patient for what we want. Especially not my toy."

He lets out a grumbled noise that seems to be of affirmation. 

"Tell me how you're feeling."

"Good, Y/N. So good." He assures you, his voice gravelly.

You're smiling, and go to straddle his lap again. "Do you want this? Are you comfortable with this?" You lower yourself so that your core is pressed to his rigid cock. It twitches.

You receive several enthusiastic nods and quiet but fervent pleads for more.

"You've got condoms?" Before you even finish speaking, John is ashamedly shaking his head 'no.' You scoot off of his lap and pull one out of your purse. He mutters, "Thank God," and you chuckle.

Placing a jacked edge of the wrapper between your teeth, you rip it, carefully, and remove the condom. As you guide it onto John's dick and slide it down you see his eyes roll backward. "Gonna cum already?" You tease.

"N-no!" He protests but you hush him as you slide your slickness down his shaft. He slowly goes against your movements, which is also against your directions.

"Whatcha doing, honey?" You say, his chin in your grip, demanding him to look at you. You internally cringe at calling him 'honey,' as you consider it an impossibility outside of this circumstance but don't allow your confidence to visually waver.

His lazy eyes look up into yours and he tries to refrain from his instinctive movements.

"Didn't tell you to fuck me, did I?"

"God... no, s-sorry. Baby—Y/N—please!"

"I'm fucking you tonight, got it?" You inform him, sliding back down, painstakingly slow, then back up. When he nods you slam down on him and he shivers. "I can tell how you've struggled to withstand your urges but you've been so good I think I've ought to reward you." Your voice wavers a bit everytime he hits your spot so perfectly but go at a steady pace. John's breaths have synchronized with each of your bucks.

He could easily come undone now if you told him too but he holds off, not only for the sake of submission but because he missed you and he wanted to savor every moment of this. You felt the same. You both could be very worrisome people, and you both were convinced nothing lasts, or not as long as it should or is hoped to. John didn't want to lose you again, but he wasn't even sure if he had you to begin with.

"I love you." He mumbles, and almost in a way that he seems unknowing. There was a flutter in your chest and you hesitate for half a second but begin going faster. If that wasn't the hottest three words he could've said right now, you don't know what is.

You thrust yourself up and down on him, and grab his hands in your face and kiss him. The position is crampy, and growing sloppy because of the mutual desperation.

You're both in climacteric need for release and when you hear John sniff and observe his inflamed eyes, you lean to whisper, "I know you've got to cum, baby, me too. Cum for me." You both hollar and sigh in bliss as you unleashed all of that pent up lust.

"I love you too, Deacy." You beam. John quickly goes from a look of confusion to a smile as he scratches his head and says, "Oh, I didn't know I'd said that aloud."

You two embrace for a short while but soon after getting cleaned and dressed. In the process you share touches but all of the lines are a bit blurred.

It's awkwardly silent so you speak, "You know I'm still keeping this shirt."

"That's perfectly fine, you look lovely in it." If this man wasn't in music, maybe he could get paid for making people ruddy 24/7. "If you could, I'd like something in return."

Your eyebrow quirks and you joke, "What, was that not enough?"

"As good as it was I think there's one thing to top it off..."

"Which is?"

"Your telly number so we can work out a date."

You look across his face for any insincerities but come up empty. Only signs of adorability and preciousness. "Yes, okay, yes." You fumble to jot down your number with a pen and notebook you snatched from your bag.

His smile is exuberant, with eyes scrunched and cheeks rosy. You feel your face become hot, too.

You hoped you could return home and appear to your flatmates that nothing had gone on but as you look over to mirror to fix your hair, you find it's in an irremediable state and notice hickies covering your skin. So much for the shower.

"Can't wait to see you."

"You've got to call me first."

"Naturally."

"Goodbye, Johnny." You bid him.

Before heading to your car to drive home, John responds with a simple phrase that he punctuates with a designation that makes the lines much bolder. "Take it easy, darling."

Darling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments, kudos, or suggestions for content warnings, etc.!
> 
> If you have ideas/requests for future fics submit them {anonymously, if so desired} here: misfiredeacy.tumblr.com/ask


	3. Darling (Smut/18+) — Part 2/? Phallic!Reader Version

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life was draining but you woke up restored. Despite how you would expect such an abrupt meet up with John, there was a strange casualty to it where, even in doubt, you felt dependent on his company. You feared the potential of slipping up before a man so dear to you, one you experienced puberty alongside for God's sake, but in time adopted a safe feeling; talking to him, though would appear to any passerby as mere catch-up between old friends, was revitalizing. Closure has always been something you've lacked, and though not blatantly stated, it was obvious that he and you hadn't lost your spark, or, in the least, there was no hostility between the two of you and still potential for growth or continuation of some manner of association. That becomes proven more so the following morning where he makes you breakfast and you make him a little something yourself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimers and warnings:
> 
> THIS IS SMUT! 18+ ONLY!
> 
> Also contains the following: Dom/Sub dynamic; Teasing; Praising; Y/N!Dom; Y/N!Bottom (penetrated); Riding; Oral and handjob on penis (Y/N on giving end)
> 
> Other content warnings: Food/Encouragement to eat (slight); Cussing (moderate); Exes/Unlikely relationship dynamic
> 
> \---
> 
> This smut is made for readers interested in self-inserts where Y/N possesses a penis and testicles.
> 
> (Not all penis-bearing people are AMAB nor male/man-aligned)
> 
> Phallic - of or relating to the Phallus*
> 
> *Phallus = External genitals of the penile anatomy
> 
> \---
> 
> I hope I avoid gendered pronouns as much as possible and that I can be as inclusive of any and all readers because all bodies are different and it though can be complicated to include every body type, background, and culture. My biggest goal is to achieve enough ambiguity to allow any reader to fin Y/N's character because all self-insert fics are AUs for the reader, but you should still feel appropriate inserting yourself into any fave x reader fics! <3

As your eyes slowly drift open, you feel a strike of unfamiliarity through your abdomen. Your fatigue evaporates swiftly. Looking over to the other side of the bed, you see it is not occupied though looks slept in with dents in the mattress, sheets tousled, and the comforter torn away from the edge. Your memory floods back to you—John! The events, or perhaps circumstance and many floods of dopamine production that partook within you, come flooding back. You wonder where he's gone. You think to yourself that you've oughta take a shower before returning home to your roommates.

You rush yourself in to do your business before he returns. Vaguely, your mind torments you with last night; what an enchanting torment. Soon, you're humming songs from Queen's performance last night. The name is very becoming now that you think about it, the band as well; you're interested to know them and wonder if John will formally introduce you. Mentally, you slap yourself for pondering such as though expecting something to come out of the opportune accident of last night.

After 20 transient minutes of cleansing, self-torment, and trying to remember the ending of the song John had hummed on the way home, you exit the shower. You felt nice coming out of the shower and inhaled your own scent; you hated body wash marketed for men, a horrid stench. You've never understood the idea that men cannot wash with sweet scents like strawberry. You summon into mind that it smells like John—a given—but that turned a putrid stench into a savored perfume.

Your clothes weren't fit for anywhere but the club, in your head, so you searched his dresser for any trousers that you thought he wouldn't miss. You peak out of the restroom and see he's not returned. You pondered the possibility of him being home but you've heard not one noise come out of the flat beside the own making of yourself. You exit the bathroom and return his shirt to your body, where it felt so comfortable then continue on with a pair of his pants.

The door creaks and you jump to turn towards the sound but fall as you got your final pant leg (John's pants) up. "Shit!" John shouts, always one to exaggerate but whose to say when you've fallen with pants around your ankles because the owner of the flat you're in, as they would, walks into their own room?

He scrambles over to you after placing a tray with 2 matching plates of breakfast food onto his nightstand. "You okay?" You're flushed and wish you could crawl out of your skin but let out a meek, "Y-yeah." Taking your hand, John attempts to help you up and you comply but remain rosy while you work on the pant leg.

He has a curious face on when he asks, "What are you doing, Y/N?"

"Putting my pants on. What do you mean?" As 'my,' falls from your lips, his eyebrow quirks and your flush is unwavering, and your head becomes light.

"Don't be embarrassed." Oh God, he can tell. "I'm...erm...why do you want my pants?"

You foolishly blurt, "Don't really want to head home in club get-up... These looked comfy."

"And I'm presuming as did my The Beatles top, no?" You're beyond dumbfounded; no embarrassment has surpassed this.

"Y/N, relax." He's smiling and reaches an arm out to you, and you rush his pants up to your hips. John is chuckling as you are turned to face away with him as he hugs you from behind. It goes silent for near to a minute but you it feels comfortably long and painstakingly long as you lack full satisfaction. "Missed this." His nose graces your neck, breathing steadily with a heavy exhale followed by a groan of joy. "Y'smell like me," He mutters.

You giggle. "What? You do!" He tells you. "No...no! I-it tickles!" You manage out through more giggles.

He spins you around simply to see your face, and share your joy but once your eyes lock they linger and John's face starts microscopically inching towards you. Before tension could even build, you break it down, forcing your mouth to his, unable to wait. You've waited so long already. Minutes feeling like days... so it's been nearly 4 lifespans.

His hands wander to under your shirt—well, his shirt—and grace your tummy. As he's backing towards the bed, you find yourself on John's lap. "Where were you all this time?" You groan between hungry kisses.

"Downstairs making breakfast..." He pulls away, looking at you and over to the table where the food sits.

"I meant these past years, you dork."

"Oh, uh...—Oh shit!" He cuts himself off, "Speaking of breakfast... want some? It might get cold." You think he's joking at first but you see the sincerity in his eyes.

"John, I appreciate the gesture and I hate to waste such lovely food but I'd much rather be doing something else right now, wouldn't you?" He shifts beneath you.

"Please, please..." He grinds up into you while mumbling pleas.

"Don't you ever shut up?" Now it's John's turn to get flustered. You caress his crimson cheeks and run your thumb along them, easing your hands into his hair. His eyes dart cross your face and to your hand—just all over, trying to guess your next move. With a kiss placed to his cheek, you let your fingers intertwine with his locks and give a bit of a tug. He sucks in a sharp breath and whimpers.

His bulge is prominent, seeming completely and painstakingly erect, like the hairs on your neck and you giggle, at first innocently but teasingly as you inch your hand up his thigh.

"You little minx!" John grabs your wrist, as he attempts to restore his self-discipline and assert dominance over you but you see vulnerability in him. His body weakened and desperate for you.

"Me, the minx? You're pitching up quite the tent, after near to no touching and you're whimpering for me like a kitten... like my little toy." He liked that. He nearly passed out with how much he liked that, and he let it echo in his head until he thought he may just combust.

And you liked the way he believed he could control and with just a couple sentences he conceded; you felt proud. Sexual liberation was important for you, and you received constant shame, even from friends, for it but John was doing the complete opposite and this fact nearly reverted you to a place where you've never felt agony.

Your brain goes foggy; though every step of the way you are tuned into your elation, it becomes so much that you let his noises and your intuition guide your every move.

Somehow you've both got your pants off, your underwear remains, but his were tossed across the room. You're keeled before him as he's sat on the edge of the bed. Spit falls from your mouth and along his tip. You guide it down, lubing him up and teasing his pulsing dick with both of your hands. John tries to remain alert but can't help blinking through the overwhelming amount of pleasure. He's holding his bottom lip between his teeth to hold in his wailing.

Confidence soars through as you ask, "So, who is the toy here, then?"

"Me."

"You what? C'mon... be good for me."

"G-god. I-I'm your toy. Yours, d-d." He trails, but you can tell it's by choice. You don't even know what will fall from your lips but you're aching to hear.

"What's that? Yours, who?" You demand, with your hand stroking him still, but offer a more gentle, "Don't be shy, baby. Wanna try again?"

He has the flash of a smile but his expression fades to one that's dizzied with lust, while he fucks up into your hands and, "Darling!" Bursts out of his swollen lips.

"Good little thing, you are." You say with a pleased laugh, slowing the motions around his pulsating erection and taking your hand off. John whimpers, looking like he's in need.

"M-mouth, please." He begs, with his head was thrown back and eyes tightly shut.

You would've protested a bit just to tease him more but you wanted him bad. He jolts when you place his tip to your tongue; your wet lips join and you let out a small laugh, sending vibrations around him and he becomes even more desperate. You guide your fingers up his thighs, around his bush and to his belly. The way his abdomen muscles contorted at the gentlest touch made him all the more desirable but you contained your excitement in aims of remaining in control. You needed it, but you also needed him.

He fucks up into your face and you allow it, slowly pulling away to restore your breath, only to go back to pleasing him.

"Don't think that you're in charge now." You remind him and he's a pathetic, noisy mess for you by now. "Keep making noise, Johnny. I love it."

You gargle around his length and ensure you're utilizing your hands to stimulate him as much as you can. Your dick convulses with every sound, no need to touch yourself to know you're leaking precum.

"D-didn't you want me to shut up?"

"You were prolonging this, and we both know that neither of us is patient for what we want. Especially not my toy."

He lets out a grumbled noise that seems to be of affirmation.

"Tell me how you're feeling."

"Good, Y/N. So good." He assures you, his voice gravelly.

You're smiling, and go to straddle his lap again. "Do you want this? Are you comfortable with this?" You lower yourself so that your core is pressed to his rigid cock. It twitches.

You receive several enthusiastic nods and quiet but fervent pleads for more.

"You've got condoms?" Before you even finish speaking, John is ashamedly shaking his head 'no.' You scoot off of his lap and pull one out of your purse. He mutters, "Thank God," and you chuckle.

Placing a jacked edge of the wrapper between your teeth, you rip it, carefully, and remove the condom. As you guide it onto John's dick and slide it down you see his eyes roll backward. "Gonna cum already?" You tease.

"N-no!" He protests but you hush him as you slide your lubed up hole down his shaft. He slowly goes against your movements, which is also against your directions.

"Whatcha doing, honey?" You say, his chin in your grip, demanding him to look at you. You internally cringe at calling him 'honey,' as you consider it an impossibility outside of this circumstance but don't allow your confidence to visually waver.

His lazy eyes look up into yours and he tries to refrain from his instinctive movements.

"Didn't tell you to fuck me, did I?"

"God... no, s-sorry. Baby—Y/N—please!"

"I'm fucking you tonight, got it?" You inform him, sliding back down, painstakingly slow, then back up. When he nods you slam down on him and he shivers. "I can tell how you've struggled to withstand your urges but you've been so good I think I've ought to reward you." Your voice wavers a bit everytime he hits your spot so perfectly but go at a steady pace. John's breaths have synchronized with each of your bucks.

He could easily come undone now if you told him too but he holds off, not only for the sake of submission but because he missed you and he wanted to savor every moment of this. You felt the same. You both could be very worrisome people, and you both were convinced nothing lasts, or not as long as it should or is hoped to. John didn't want to lose you again, but he wasn't even sure if he had you to begin with.

"I love you." He mumbles, and almost in a way that he seems unknowing. There was a flutter in your chest and you hesitate for half a second but begin going faster. If that wasn't the hottest three words he could've said right now, you don't know what is.

You thrust yourself up and down on him, and grab his hands in your face and kiss him. The position is crampy, and growing sloppy because of the mutual desperation.

You're both in climacteric need for release and when you hear John sniff and observe his inflamed eyes, you lean to whisper, "I know you've got to cum, baby, me too. Cum for me." You both hollar and sigh in bliss as you unleashed all of that pent up lust.

"I love you too, Deacy." You beam. John quickly goes from a look of confusion to a smile as he scratches his head and says, "Oh, I didn't know I'd said that aloud."

You two embrace for a short while but soon after getting cleaned and dressed. In the process you share touches but all of the lines are a bit blurred.

It's awkwardly silent so you speak, "You know I'm still keeping this shirt."

"That's perfectly fine, you look lovely in it." If this man wasn't in music, maybe he could get paid for making people ruddy 24/7. "If you could, I'd like something in return."

Your eyebrow quirks and you joke, "What, was that not enough?"

"As good as it was I think there's one thing to top it off..."

"Which is?"

"Your telly number so we can work out a date."

You look across his face for any insincerities but come up empty. Only signs of adorability and preciousness. "Yes, okay, yes." You fumble to jot down your number with a pen and notebook you snatched from your bag.

His smile is exuberant, with eyes scrunched and cheeks rosy. You feel your face become hot, too.

You hoped you could return home and appear to your flatmates that nothing had gone on but as you look over to mirror to fix your hair, you find it's in an irremediable state and notice hickies covering your skin. So much for the shower.

"Can't wait to see you."

"You've got to call me first."

"Naturally."

"Goodbye, Johnny." You bid him.

Before heading to your car to drive home, John responds with a simple phrase that he punctuates with a designation that makes the lines much bolder. "Take it easy, darling."

Darling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave comments, kudos, or suggestions for content warnings, etc.!
> 
> If you have ideas/requests for future fics submit them {anonymously, if so desired} here: misfiredeacy.tumblr.com/ask


End file.
